August 9, 1904



Cada Flagg shut her hotel room door, and with a trembling hand, she slid the lock into place. She leaned her back against the door to steady herself.

Fear caught in her throat; her heart pounded in her ears. The words shed heard back in the hallway echoed in her mind:

That Cada woman and the rest like her are a menace. They must be stopped.

The threat was unmistakable.

Cada had stood motionless, hidden in the shadows, as she listened to three men discuss the daring crime they had committed. Her delicate hand pressed against her chest, and she hardly breathed.

Did the man see me in that one moment a door opened behind me and I was flooded in light? Did he know I had overheard them? Did he recognize me? She had no way to know.

I am so tired, Cada thought. She pushed back a lock of hair from her forehead.

Six meetings in half as many days had taken their toll. They were in grange halls, churches, homes, and even in a barn; anywhere people agreed to gather. And Cada spoke from her heart as she spread her message of equality.

She placed her papers on the side table and sank into the wing chair across from the bed. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized the danger she was in.

Slowly Cada got to her feet and crossed the room to the oak desk in the corner. A floor lamp stood nearby. She adjusted the glass shade and sat down.

From the top drawer, she took a sheet of writing paper, a pen, an ink-bottle, and a blotter.

Dear Louisa, she began.

"I don't know why I even bother," Jake Angelo muttered as he slammed down the receiver. He felt the familiar sting behind his eyes. "Fifteen-year-old boys don't cry," he scolded himself.

He crossed the room and slumped into the upholstered chair. Tiger, his small, black dog at his feet, looked up at him. "Come on, Tige, he said, using the short version of his name. Jake patted his leg. The dog jumped into his lap.

"I wish just once Dad would say I did something right," he mumbled as he ruffled the dog's ear. Tiger, the offspring of a Scotty mother and an unknown father, licked Jake's arm in response.

The thud of footsteps crossing the wide porch came through the row of open windows in the front of the large room. This was the summer home of Rory Collins and his mother, Martha. It was built in the late 1800's as a stage coach station when stage coaches were the only public transportation in rural areas like Lake Pearl.

"Yo, Jake," a voice called.

Jake hesitated, settled back into the chair and answered, "Yeah?"

His friend, Rory Collins, stood in the open doorway holding up a red, white, and blue Frisbee. "Got this at the General Store," he announced. "Let's throw it around."

Jake took a deep breath and shrugged. "Sure," he said. "Might as well." He stirred, and Tiger jumped to the floor.

The boys were opposite in many ways. Jake, with a mop of dark, curly hair and electric blue eyes, wore jean cut-offs and an orange, sleeveless shirt with a large, black 5 on the back. Although Jake was generally good-natured, he seldom smiled as he considered life serious business.

Rory had red glints in his brown hair, and just the faintest suggestion of the freckles he'd had growing up. With his ready smile and breezy manner, he took everything in stride.

Once outside, Jake's mood began to lift. From the porch, he looked through the boughs of a thin stand of pine trees to the country highway below; and then beyond to the lake, shimmering like a brilliant blue sapphire in the afternoon sun.

From the far shore, the mountains of the Angeles National Forest rose high and steep into the cloudless sky. Although Jake had been in Lake Pearl for several weeks, this sight never failed to stir him.

Rory stood poised at one end of the gravel drive that fronted the building. "This is a good spot," he said, and spun the disk to Jake.

Tiger bounced and yipped, and positioned himself between the boys; his body tense, his eyes and ears alert. Each time the Frisbee flew, he followed it for a step or two, but then it sped off in the other direction. After a few minutes of this, Tiger stopped and stood poised halfway between the boys; one short, front paw lifted in readiness. Only his head wagged back and forth as his eyes followed the flight of the spinning disc.

Rory threw the Frisbee. "Did you talk to your dad?" he asked.

Jake returned the disc. "Yeah," he answered.

"Did he get your paycheck you sent him?" Rory persisted.

"Yeah."

"Guess he was glad to get it."

Jake threw the Frisbee before he answered. He frowned and shook his head. "Dad said if I'd gone to work in my uncle's construction business in Los Angeles for the summer, I could have made real money instead of that piddly little amount."

Jake gave a short laugh and threw the Frisbee back. "I thought it would please him since he was out of work, and Mom's job at the diner doesn't pay much."

Rory was silent. The Frisbee sailed back and forth. Then Jake added, "It's like he always seems to see me through the wrong end of the binoculars."

Jake's lips tightened. He flung the Frisbee hard. The wind caught it and blew it high, sending it soaring over the peak of the roof and out of sight.

"I'll get it," Jake offered, and trotted around to the back of the building, Tiger at his heals. He edged his way along the narrow space between the building and the hill that rose behind it.

The disk lay on the roof of a small room